


Small Blessings

by Saturninetyfour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexual Luna Lovegood, Bisexuality, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore's Army, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Gen, I will make everyone queer and trans to spite JKR, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Learning and Growing, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Hermione Granger, Lesbianism, Lots of processing, Not Epilogue Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Positive Mental Attitude, Queer History, Recovery!fic, Slice of Life, Sweet sapphic yearning, everybody is gay pals I mean it, everybody is het? no thank you, fuck that epilogue, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturninetyfour/pseuds/Saturninetyfour
Summary: They're both so tired. HermioneLuna femmeslash, post-DH. Oneshot, now being continued as a chaptered story. First 3 chapters written when I was 16, I'm now 26.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Small Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a fanfic I wrote 10 years ago, aged 16, that I'm re-commencing work on now, at 26. My username on fanfic.net was Broccoli-xxxx - sadly I lost the log-in for that account a very long time ago, but I'm hoping that if any of my old readers come across this, they'll take me at face value for the same writer!
> 
> The first 3 chapters of this fic are the same ones I wrote when I was 16, untouched and unchanged. I considered going back into them and making edits and changes but I quite like the idea of having a dialogue with 16-year-old me, now that I'm 26 and happy and gay and getting married. It's so funny to read a fic that you wrote when you hadn't come out yet, exploring tender themes of lesbian love. What surprised me is that what I wrote is genuinely not that dissimilar to the real love I'm experiencing now.
> 
> If you were a reader of mine back then, I hope you will enjoy what I'm bringing to this story. I'm hoping to finish it finally and use it as a reflection on what is now a complicated relationship with Harry Potter. Harry Potter fanfic is where I first found representation of lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans identities - and the myriad other identities that fall under the LGBTQ+ umbrella - and I wanted to do my part to put some of that representation into the world. No matter what J.K has to say about trans identities, I want you to know you are valid and real and you have a place here in this community.
> 
> Welcome back to the world of Small Blessings.

It starts just after the war ends. Luna decides to crop her hair short, short like Hermione's temper is nowadays. She's always shouting at people, and funnily it's always Luna who stops her. Her body aches from so many Cruciatuses and all she wants is to sleep.

She watches the Trio return from whatever they were doing in the Headmaster's office and smiles at Harry, bedraggled and thin, nods politely at Ronald with his shock of outgrown red hair and the cuts on his face still bleeding, and simply stares at Hermione with a 'let's get out of here' look that she's sure she'll use more often in the future. They get out of there.

The jubilant songs from the Great Hall echo down so many of the broken halls, with jagged shadows appearing like the ghosts that will no doubt appear in the months afterwards as the sun comes up, bright and shimmering with natural magic, shining on a new era and a new start for everyone. It takes a while to find the right place to stop. But nevertheless they stop, in Firenze's teaching room, the walls broken in some places but the enchantment (magical and spiritual) remains strong.

Luna immediately felt herself gravitate towards that familiar faux-forest floor and crumpled, flopping down with such enthusiasm that Hermione gasps. "Luna! Are you-?"

"I'm quite alright, Hermione. Sit. It's been a long time." Hermione feels her heartstrings being tugged by this detached, mystical girl, and she crumples too, flopping down so that she can see Luna's face clearly. Her heart echoes in a melancholy tone, such a long time.

"I'm going to cut my hair shorter, to my chin. It'll keep the wrackspurts away better." Hermione pauses for thought, studying that pale face and suddenly she sees it, her elfin features framed by spiky, gold locks.

She smiles, and says, "It'll suit you." And Luna's heart sings, because now she knows Hermione is her friend.

* * *

Somehow, the Burrow hasn't been hit by angry spells and stands tall, lopsided as ever. The arrangements for Fred's funeral (not to mention Tonks, Remus, Colin, and the fifty-odd others who left that day) are put together there. Harry organizes Snape's funeral himself, along with a portrait for the headmaster's office. Somehow people keep tumbling into the Burrow to stay – homes have been destroyed, people are being tracked down and the Order prefers the bustling Weasley den to Grimmauld Place, where they would be haunted by so many lost souls, gone forever to a place some soldiers wish they had gone to.

Hermione thinks a lot about her kiss with Ron and what it meant. It was nice, sure, and passionate no doubt, but she when she speaks with Ron nowadays, they're just friends. Perhaps it was nothing but platonic – it would explain the lack of romantic feeling she has towards him. She asks Luna, "What does it mean?"

Luna smiles, and takes Hermione's war-worn hands, tracing the lines on her palms with a long, pale finger. "What would you like it to mean?"

Before Hermione can think, Luna goes on in her dreamy tone, "I see love in your future. A love that defies logic…but it is not Ronald. No…nor Harry, Neville, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Dean, Cho…you cannot help yourself…you are just so full of love for all. Like me."

Hermione blushed. There had been times when she had loved each of those Luna had named; lingering touches on Harry's hand, smouldering glares at Cho and Lavender, and an undeniable attraction to the others. She stared at Luna, who stared resolutely back as the bushy-haired girl asked, "Where is the answer? How do you know all of this?"

"You already have your answers. It's the questions you need to be looking for." And with that, Luna drifted off, leaving Hermione with nothing but Luna's sweet earthy scent to cling to.

* * *

Luna enjoyed being in the company of so many. The Burrow became a home for all, people chipping in money for groceries and the like, wrapping up warmer and cuddling together in the cold nights so the heating bill was not as high as it would be.

Seamus and Dean stop by many times, sometimes with Neville; though Neville comes and goes by himself most of the time. He's taller now, broader and more substantial – he's a man, at least as tall as Ron and a true hero like him and Harry too. Luna likes talking to Neville the most, because there's something so delightfully familiar about this clumsy, nervous, forgetful boy who has turned into a warrior almost all at once. When she looks at him, she thinks he is a work of art. This war brought many bad things, but some small blessings – one of them being the transformation of Neville Longbottom into the commander of a great army, the one who roused the rebel yell of Dumbledore's Army at Hogwarts…someone Luna has the good fortune to call her friend.

One day, the sun comes out, strong and hot, and the current inhabitants of the Burrow (the remaining Weasleys, the lone Potter, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Hermione, Cho, Lee, Parvati, Padma, and so many others) all flood out into the garden, so that the air is heavy with love and the ground is covered with people savouring the eccentric British weather, blessing Ottery St Catchpole with a spell of sun (it's nice to have a spell that only does good, except in the case of Ginny Weasley's burnt shoulders).

Luna takes a walk with Neville, hand in hand; there's nothing romantic about it, it's merely platonic, for they are best friends and yes, Luna does love him, though not in that way. Neville's hand is so much bigger than the one she clutched in her fourth year, in between fighting Death Eaters at the Ministry, and she smiles up at him nostalgically, a smile which he returns tenfold.

"How have you been, Luna?" His question comes suddenly, and Luna gives him a dazzling smile. "I've been great, Neville. Hermione and I are friends now!" Neville studies her face for a while, and smiles at what he knows is to come – that is, if Hermione decides to allow it.

* * *

Hermione Granger did not often find herself being confused. She was not confused about her body – the war had built muscle to a certain extent, but going without food for such long stretches of time had made her thin and bizarrely stick-like, so she can count her ribs (24 in total, 4 just recovered from fractures) and the knobs of her spine.

The Burrow is too crowded nowadays for everyone to have a bath of their own, so they limit the amount they bathe for the while, and some people agree to share baths when they do bathe. Hermione surprises herself by agreeing to this; usually, she was a private person with regards to revealing herself to other people, even other girls, but now she could not find the energy to protest the practice. She finds herself bathing with Luna the most. Sometimes it's Ginny, but mainly Luna. She assures herself that she has nothing to be ashamed of by preferring to bathe with a specific person, and feeling ridiculously (almost impossibly) comfortable around that person.

Hermione steps into the bathtub after Luna, settling herself at the opposite end of the bath and stretching out her legs next to Luna. The water is not as deep as usual because there are droughts across the wizarding community, so she can see the outline of Luna's body in the water, and her toes poking out from the water, their nails painted silver. Her own are painted, oddly, the same colour, which she found lying around the house one day and made use of, deciding it was time for a change. Luna's hair is shorter now, about chin-length like she said, but as knotted as ever.

Luna smiles at Hermione and says, "Do you like it?"

Hermione does not even have to think before she replies, "I love it." She watches Luna's smile grow bigger and more dazzling than ever, and she presses her thumbs subconsciously into the gaps between her ribs to stop herself from giggling. She gives a smile back – a real smile, she is surprised to find, then offers to wash Luna's back. As she does, she can't help but notice that every knob of Luna's spine is visible, and her ribs stick out like the bars of a real cage - not just this twin set shielding her every breath from escape.

ermione sighs, "We'll get better, won't we?" Luna turns, grasping Hermione's face in her elfin hands, and kisses her chastely on the cheek, "Yes. We'll all get better, eventually."

* * *

It is repair day at the Burrow, and it's boiling. Hermione and Luna help to re-paint the Burrow – Molly decides that a new coat of white paint would make the whole place look better. Ron and Harry are de-gnoming the yard, and Ginny is cleaning the windows, exchanging lovestruck glances with the Boy Who Lived as she scrubs.

Ron smiles at Hermione, and gestures her over. Luna watches as Hermione resignedly picks her way across the overgrown garden to him, and can just hear their conversation on the breeze.

"Hermione, where are we going?"  
"…well, um, R-Ron, we're…"  
"…yes?"  
"I….don't really know."

Luna can see, in the mildly distorted reflection of the window, Ron dipping his head to Hermione's and kissing her softly. As he draws back, there is sadness on both their faces.  
  
"I can't say I didn't know."  
"Know what?"  
"Look, 'Mione, we're not meant to be. I guess…we were caught in the moment, or something, back at Hogwarts, or we had something and we lost it…"  
"It's not that I don't love you. I do…just as a brother."  
"I think I feel the same, too. It's pretty clear who you belong with, anyways."  
"Ronald, what?"

But Ron merely smiled, and looked towards Luna, painting away like she didn't have hope rising in her body like a tide flowing back in from far-off lands. Hermione walked back in a daze, and uttered but one word, "Luna." Luna looks at her, and smiles mildly, "Nargles got you?" Hermione dumbly nods yes, and picks up her paintbrush again, scaling the other precariously long ladder propped up against this jigsaw of a house with ease.

Luna smiles; she's wearing a pair of her purple dungarees, the straps pulled up over her shoulders, with Luna's green t-shirt, too, underneath it. Her feet are bare, like Luna's, and she paints with renewed enthusiasm, a gloriously free smile on her face, Luna looks down at herself. A pair of Ron's old black suit trousers – found in a pile of clean clothes, but given to her by Ron himself – hang low on her slim hips, and an already paint-splattered old white shirt of her mother's is buttoned wrongly over a blue vest. They look free and ramshackle and odd beyond words, but Luna smiles, because they look together.

* * *

Somehow Hermione and Luna's transition from friends to lovers is easy and seems like the most natural thing in the world when Luna pulls Hermione close one day and simply says, "Go slow."

Their kisses are tender and filled with curiosity and adventure, and Hermione can only taste Luna – and Luna tastes of the sunlight that is strewn across the mattress and walls like shards of a broken looking glass. Soon they lay down and their clothing seems to melt away, and here are two bodies so familiar to each other (Hermione knows every fading scar on Luna's body and Luna can count the vanishing bruises on Hermione's) that just seem to fit together.

Luna's hair flows like moonlight over the battered pillows on the makeshift bed Hermione calls her own (and now, Luna's) and Hermione's gentle, scarred hands trace fairy swirls and magical symbols on Luna's body, making her gasp and arch into Hermione's waiting embrace. They make love for what seems like hours, and when they lie, entwined, together on Hermione's mattress in Ginny's room, everything seems still and perfect.

* * *

All the dead are buried by Christmas. Hermione and Luna don white, instead of black, to every funeral, and hold each other's hand in a death grip, tears flowing freely down both faces.

"Why white, and not black, Luna?" Hermione questions at first.  
"They would not want us to mourn. They would want us to celebrate the glorious, textured lives they had – that's what my mother told me."

When they retreat back to the Burrow with the rest of the friends staying there, they do not go in straight away, but take off their restricting funeral shoes and walk in their soon-to-be laddered tights up to the hill overlooking the entirety of Ottery St. Catchpole, then clutch at each other desperately, not saying anything but savouring the fact that they live, they breathe and they love, and they are solid in each other's arms as they lie down on the hill and sing to one another inside their minds. _Thank you_. The wind echoes their thoughts across the night skies.

* * *

Luna's house is rebuilt, and Xenophilius tells his daughter that if she would like to move back, she can. Hermione bites her fingernails anxiously as Luna goes back to the Lovegood house that brought Luna up to being the magical girl she is, and frets that maybe things will change if she stays.

"He's my father," Luna had said. "He's important to me. But I don't know if I want to move back home. I don't know whether I should move somewhere new."

Hermione doesn't care where this 'somewhere new' is as long as she can go too. "I might travel, for a while. I'm not sure," she says, offhandedly, as if she isn't stricken by the news that Luna is leaving. Luna looks at her carefully, "Okay." The artificial silence hangs heavy over their heads and they feel as if they cannot breathe.

* * *

Things do change, slightly. In the end, Hermione does travel, and Luna travels too, following the opposite route around the world to Hermione, so they will meet again in the middle of their journey – Gotebourg, in Sweden, to search for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – then complete the other half of their journey and decide where they should go from there.

They are not together, at least not physically. But somehow their hearts echo out to each other and they know exactly where the other is on the great big globe of metal they call their Earth. War had given them each different paths, but they had both endured the same horrors in time and were brought together by something that was there all along.

If war could bring such a wonderful thing to the surface, Hermione thought, as she kissed Luna for the last time before they set off in opposite directions, then separation could make this emotional magic endure. The pair turned from each other, letting their entwined fingers slip apart. They glanced back at one another with bittersweet smiles, then twin _pop!_ s echoed and they vanished.


	2. Paris and Reykjavik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins, in Paris and Reykjavik.

France is dry. The air is filled with cigarette smoke, there are sophisticated couples floating by, and it's just like in the stories her parents told her when she was young and not quite so jaded. She met a young wizard, fresh out of Beauxbatons, who could use wandless magic, though only a little. She'd been lodging in a spare room in his house – towering and empty, it belonged to his parents, who were almost always absent.

Perhaps it was being alone so much that made Gerard create his own shortcuts. "C'est difficile," he admits, and she watches as he frowns, staring at his palm, then murmured, "Lumos."

Light began to well in his palm, like water flowing from a tap, until it floated in a sphere, linked to his hand by a thin chain of light. On the ceiling above, she could see the shadow of his hand, and the light above it, emitting waving patterns of warmth and magic. Hermione blinked, and was surprised when she felt wetness on her cheeks.

* * *

The cold never did bother her very much. She meditates, in the mornings, atop a small hill just outside of Reykjavik. The ground is thick with frost and crunches underfoot, and she's wearing only a light cotton dress, but she sits down anyways, and turns to the south-east, uses a compass to place it.

The morning air is chill but sings through her bones, like a voice carrying over the seas. She can feel Hermione in the air, her magic pulsing even now. When she awakens from her meditation, she is inside with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She has been carried in by Sven, who chides her in a beautiful, musical voice, like windchimes and sadness.

"You were turning blue out there." And Luna sighed, and smiled, thinking about how blue was Hermione's favourite colour.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Beginning this letter was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Finding the words to start with was near-impossible – how can I accurately show a summation of how I feel about you? About us? With your name. It was always going to be with your name. After the war it's the only name I want to hear anymore. Every day when we were helping clear the wreckage of our school, hearing your name on another's lips was some kind of quiet music to me. A promise of continuation; the relief that you too were alive hit me every time I heard it._

_Hermione, I'm in Iceland. Of course, you probably know that. Well, you definitely do – you plotted out this journey of ours. We're meant to find the answer to our futures this year, aren't we? The scenery here sparkles with a sort-of magic; I have met a few witches and wizards, not many, but it's hard to tell here who has magic and who doesn't. I suppose that just shows how crazy the idea of Blood Status was. Magic can't be seen in a person's blood, or in their family. Here everyone is peaceful and calm, living their peaceful, calm lives despite the fact that I can see that the war stretched even here._

_There are refugees here, you see. Far more wizards and witches than there ordinarily are. They hide themselves well – I've only met about 10, and that was their choice – but I can taste the remnants of spells in the air. You can see magic in a person's eyes, though. It burns brighter in yours than in anyone else's I've ever seen._

_It is cold here, but I don't mind – I'm enjoying the benefits of the short hair. Not having quite so much hair makes me feel purer. I like the way the wind whistles through my layers of clothes, tosses my hair about; almost makes me feel as though the war polluted me, and here I am, cleansing myself of darkness before I see you again._

_My father has written to me, hoping I am well. He says he hopes you're well too; Hermione, I think he is quite jealous of what you have caused in me. He feels as though he is losing his little girl – he isn't, of course, he never could – and it worries him to see me so…attached to you. He hasn't felt that way towards anyone since Mum._

_Have you visited your parents yet, Hermione? I know you're headed to Australia before I am, but you didn't mention whether you were going to see them. I know you must be worried still; they haven't caught all of the Death Eaters just yet, you don't want to put them in any danger until you're certain they're alright. They will be safe if they are with you, that much I know. I never felt safer than when I knew you were around._

_I am trying to pretend I'm not scared about the future, but it's not quite working. I'm trying to find my answer (though to what question, I'm not sure), and the best I can come up with is 'Hermione'. They have a saying here, and I'm going to write it in Icelandic so that you can feel the beauty of the words: 'A saga er eini helmingur told ef there er eini einn hlið nútíminn' - a story is only half told if there is only one half presented._

_Remember that, Hermione, and think of me._

_Yours, Luna_

_P.S Enclosed is a woolly hat I bought for you, for when you get to the colder parts of the world. I hope you like it._

* * *

_Luna,_

_I've spent a long time wondering how to start my letter, too. You know me; I'm not very good at being romantic, or showing how I feel. You know me. It seems we reached the same conclusion, though – the only way to start a letter to you that I felt was right, was to just put your name. Simple, to the point._

_Thank you. For the hat, for the letter. I miss you, and they made being away from you somewhat less lonely. As you know, I've started off with Paris. Or Paname, as I've heard people our age calling it. You'll like it here – I know your mother taught you French, and if I could get by on mine – I haven't spoken it in a while, I was taught it at Muggle school – then I'm sure you'll do fine._

_I'm staying in a small hotel just out of the city centre, and while I love how I feel as if I've lived here for an age, these hotel walls are closing in on me. Though I suppose there are worse walls to be closed in by – the architecture here is beautiful. The little Muggle girl in me wants to take obscene amounts of photos, with my thumb over a corner of the lense. I'm trying my hardest to give you an idea of how lovely this city really is, but I can't form it into words._

_What I like is that here, I'm just a girl. I'm not a witch, a know-it-all or a lesbian. Here I can be anonymous, and after everything, I think that that is what I like the most. I love Harry and Ron, but I don't know how to cope with the fame. This Golden Trio business is very tiring, and even though the war got here, too – some buildings are damaged, but they've magicked them so that Muggles can't tell – thankfully people don't seem to know me. Or, they can tell I'm trying to hide, and they let me._

_At night, when I look out from my window, and see the whole city illuminated with blinding lights, and watch it float out into the ether, somehow it reminds me of you. Seeing your name on the same piece of paper as mine helps me kid myself that you're right here with me._

_Hermione_

* * *

She wakes up the morning after she sent her letter to find an owl perched at her window, a small slip of paper rolled around its ankle. Hermione untied it, paid the owl, and sent it on its way, unraveling the paper and reading.

 _the sun is constant on this island of light._  
 _i see your face on my eyelids_  
 _as i surface from_  
 _the blackness of sleep._  
  
 _they speak quickly here. urgently. reminds me of you;_  
 _of haphazard painting_  
 _and old books, longing to be read. you read them,_  
 _every last one._  
  
 _they ask if i want wine with dinner._  
 _  
i need no wine but that which you give me, hermione -_  
 _a name that lingers, semi-precious, on my lips._  
 _i tremble at nights -_  
 _is it cold where you are?_  
  
 _paris is warm i know, though_  
 _not_ _as_  
 _warm_ _as_  
 _you._  
  
She shuddered, by habit. It was coming to night-time in Paris, the colours of the day subdued and diffused by ozone. Hermione could smell it in the air – the pollution, the desperation. The lights outside her window are bright, harsh – she misses the calm and serenity of home, the peacefulness of love and Luna.

* * *

Outside, the landscape felt wider and colder than ever before to Luna – the bustle of London is a faint memory, compared to the quiet goings on of Reykjavik. The land of ice threatens to freeze her to the bone, but nothing comes. No cold – only fire, coursing through her bones. She held Hermione's letter to her heart, keeping her voice circulating through her mind, keeping the memory of their quiet life alive. _Soon_ , she thinks. _Soon_.


	3. New York and Tibet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes it to New York City, and Luna takes the back way into Tibet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters I wrote as a 16-year-old! I hope you enjoy. It's all new work from here. It has been a really weird experience proof-reading my own old work and re-situating myself in this world I created.

_New York I love you, but you're bringing me down._

The song sings through her bones as she lets the vibrations of the city get to her heart. There's something beautiful and sad about this canyon of architecture, this valley of the manmade; people go through their days without taking much notice of each other, and it's so different from the close-knit community she's grown accustomed to that she can't help but feel a little lost.

"Excuse me? Are you Hermione Granger?" New Jersey accent awakens her from the view through the coffee-shop window; brings her back to the cup of coffee smarting her hand with its heat, where she clasps it loosely; back to soulful eyes and tattooed skin.

She studies him quickly; takes in the short blonde buzz cut, the matching stubble, the square jaw. She can see tattoos peeking out onto his neck, behind the scarf he's wearing. It's springtime in NY, and so there's still a slight chill in the air.

She expects him to look expectant, and yet his blue eyes are smiling at her, and his expression is patient and kind.

"I'm Hermione Granger, yes," she supplies, offering her coffee-warmed hand to him. He shakes it with one as warm, from being shoved into his jacket pocket.

"It's an honour to meet you, really. I didn't mean to disturb you, but I just wanted to say thank you, and could I buy you a drink?"

It was hard to say yes, but even harder to say no. The city would swallow her whole if she didn't talk to someone.

* * *

_Luna,_

_New York is so big, and I'm so small. I remember before the war how well-fed we all were, how healthy we looked. Nowadays I look in the mirror and wonder where the rest of me went._

_It will take a while for our bodies to return to normal, I know. But it's still strange seeing all these angles and points on myself; I wish you were here. You always made me feel better about being me.  
_

_A guy bought me a drink today – a Butterbeer in a local wizarding place, you know how I don't like Firewhiskey much. I was surprised people here actually knew who I am; I'd prepared myself for a certain amount of fame but as far as I know the war never really reached as far as the USA._

_I needed the company, more than anything. I miss you, you see. If I was someone else I would have been flattered that a good-looking guy like him bought me a drink; I'm not someone else, though. His jaw was too square for me - I ended up telling him all about you._

_This city really is incredible, though. I love the variety, the vibrant culture they've got here. It's like London times one hundred. Someday we'll have to come back here together, and just fade into the background – I'm doing that now, but I think it would be a lot less lonely with you._

_I'm sending this letter with photos of me being a tourist at all the landmarks here – Muggle photographs, mind, couldn't exactly get a passerby to take a wizarding photo and not freak out when the photos started moving. Hope that's okay._

_Hermione_

* * *

She's lucky she Apparated into Tibet; it's so difficult to get in legally, she would have been stuck at the border for months.

The first thing she notices is how very high up it is. She notices this through violent altitude sickness. She persevered, climbing higher through the hills, until she reached a temple. The monks there took pity on her, coached her back to health.

The mountain air eventually became soothing. It's hot in Tibet, but cool in the mountains. She meditates daily with the orange-robed monks, trying to find her centre again in her own self-imposed bubble of loneliness.

At one point she comes to a sudden realization that Hermione might be her centre - her rock, solid and secure. After that she spends her meditations trying to scour the earth with her mind, trying to pick out the one spark of indomitable energy and consciousness, that familiar glowing woman. She finds her one day, and manages never to lose her again. It's cheating, almost; seeking her out every day when they'd promised each other distance. But the lack of _words_ , the lack of _presence_ ; that alone is more than enough distance.

Photos arrive with a letter from her, one day. Luna reads the letter hungrily, clasping it with both hands, eyes drinking in Hermione.

One of the monks asks to see the pictures, and laughs at Hermione posing at New York landmarks. Luna keeps rereading the letter.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I am in the wonderful country of Tibet, staying in a temple with some lovely Buddhist monks. At first the altitude sickness was awful, but now I rather feel better than before._

_It's amazing how many places are so different to each other on this one small planet, at least to me. I suppose I've been spending more time away from people than you have been, and yet I feel more connected than ever to everything._

_I think sometimes, crowds can cloud your perceptions of yourself. I know I can't think when there are so many people around._

_I feel so sad that a country like this is in such trouble. I wish there was more to be done – unfortunately, this is a Muggle problem, and we cannot interfere. It's funny to think of all the things we lose when we gain magic. We have to be so careful, Hermione, to not reveal ourselves fully._

_I wish this letter wasn't so brief. It's hard to find the words to say when you spend your days in silence.  
_

_I miss you, and the way you saw all of me at once. Nowadays when I meditate I search the earth for you; it's amazing how I always manage to find you again._

_Luna_

* * *

Hermione receives Luna's letter surprisingly quickly. The apartment building she's staying at in Battery Park is stale and full of tourists today, as the temperature climbs up to 100, so she's stayed in, with the windows wide open.

There is no air con in the apartment, but reading Luna's letter is as good as.

That night, she sits on the sticky laminate floor of her kitchen – well, kitchenette, but kitchens always make her feel more grounded – and faces east. Palms turned upwards on her crossed legs, she closes her eyes, and focuses on her breathing.

Slowly the noises of New York fade; the smell of traffic disappears; the cold, clammy plastic of the floor vanishes from beneath her. She is ether, darkness; _she is Hermione_.

And somewhere in the distance is a small glowing light, faintly blue but with pink tinging its edges. And Hermione knows, deep in her heart, that this is Luna.


	4. Berlin and New Delhi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! First chapter written by 26-year-old me. Compared to my 16-year-old self, I'm now a happily engaged lesbian, getting married later this year to the woman of my dreams. I also became vegan which seemed to have been a goal of mine back then - go me! My old fanfic.net username was Broccoli-xxxx, you can still view my profile. Still straightedge too, though it actually counts for something now I'm legally old enough to drink.
> 
> My main motivating factor in continuing this story - other than needing a creative outlet now that I've returned to university education, and my wonderful wife-to-be's encouragement - was the various comments JKR has made online about trans people, and LGBT people in general, and the alleged ethnic diversity of her characters.
> 
> The world has progressed somewhat and I'm glad the fandom is self-aware enough to question a woman who gave every Asian character an alliterative name - Cho Chang? Parvati and Padma Patil? - and made the lone named Irish character's trope that he tends to blow things up. Yikes.
> 
> I will always love Harry Potter but it seems the woman who created it has forgotten why we all love it - namely that it gave us a space of limitless possibility, where an orphan boy shoved into a cupboard under the stairs could one day save the world from fascism. To that end, I've decided to make the characters as queer and trans as possible within reason (i.e not forcing it, but moving that way where it seems appropriate for characters) out of spite.
> 
> If you are trans and reading this, I promise you that you will always have a place in the Harry Potter fandom. Reading HP fanfic helped me flesh out my feelings for other girls, and as we know from Harry's story - no one should have to live in a closet.
> 
> Anyways! Here is a new chapter. Berlin and New Delhi and a great deal of lesbian processing. My Hermione is a lesbian, my Luna is bisexual, and the other characters you'll learn about as and when it is relevant. I have plans.

Berlin. After the tranquility of Tibet and her stint with the monks, Luna is grateful for the chance to walk along flat pavements and drink in a feast of colour and history all too recent. She supposes a city like Berlin, not even 10 years out of its own division, resonates with how the wartime wizarding world had split itself in two.

Looking at the remnants of the Wall still standing and the art upon it she thinks of the Ministry, of its original statue of centaur, house-elf, witch and wizard all together, and she thinks of Muggles crushed under the weight of _Magic is Might_. Luna knows her father had started to turn to the Dark when she was taken, and so she thinks of his printing presses churning out _Undesirable No 1_ and propaganda and desperation too. It hurts in a myriad of ways to know the terrible power of his love for her, but her time meditating in the mountains has granted her distance. The ache in her chest is there, but she can observe it, note the size and shape of the pain, acknowledge that for now, it is a part of her that holds value because it tells her she has people to care for and who care about her.

War makes people make bad decisions in haste, that much is certain. But Berlin and Germany tell her that one day the magical world will look back on blood status and be able to carry the guilt of the lives ruined and lost, to hold it up to the light and teach the new generations that what they did was wrong and that they know better now.

Luna spends most of her time roaming Tiergarten, bringing picnic lunches along and spending time in the greenery and watching the people move to and fro. She thinks about Hermione and her agile mind, the quick wit fluttering behind her hazel eyes, the exact colour of her magic across the globe from where Luna sits. When she was in Tibet, towards the end, she felt a tentative push, a caress against her own magic, and wondered if Hermione was happy and if she was looking for her too.

She decides her letter will be a short one this time; the words spill out of her automatically and fall into place where they may:

_are you looking for me, my love_  
_a quick brush against the core of me_  
_i felt your touch as keenly as I did_  
_when we lay together that first time_  
_(i close my eyes, become still_  
_the images float up unprompted_  
_and i remember your laughing mouth-_  
_the taste of your love-_  
_the texture of your skin-_  
_the way you arched to meet me)_  
  
_you’ll have to excuse my daring_  
_but i struggle with not being touched_  
  
_a lifetime of distance forgotten once you reached out to me._  
_with your lithe, coiled mind_  
_waiting behind a halo of auburn_  
_i wait for the day i meet you again_  
_and i practice objectivity_  
_and i yearn._  
  
_did i ever truly live without your lips, your mind, your soul?_  
_i yearn to drink of the three._

She watches the owl flit off into the setting sun and realises Tiergarten has grown dim without her knowing. An instinctual shiver arises, but Luna’s skin is hot and unsettled. That night in her hostel bed she tosses and turns, vivid visions of Hermione’s summer-freckled skin dancing through her mind. She wakes the next day with a sweet taste in her mouth and a desperate thirst.

* * *

Hermione heads to New Delhi, her mind still fizzing from being recognised in New York. While it hadn’t been unpleasant, there was a part of her that longed to get away. It wasn’t until she reached India, and surrounded herself with an entirely different kind of hustle and bustle, that she felt the weight of recognition slip from her shoulders.

When she started at Hogwarts, she hadn’t planned to become one of _'The Golden Trio'_. Of course, she had known Harry Potter would be attending the same year as her, but _Hogwarts: A History_ and all of her textbooks had lit all of her nerves up with excitement and possibility about studying magic and the likelihood of him paying the slightest bit of attention to her seemed close to none. He was the Boy Who Lived, after all. No doubt he had been squirrelled away to live with some powerful wizards and witches and be taken care of, as seemed fitting for someone who had made such a sacrifice as him.

Hermione can see pinched, underfed 11-year-old Harry in her own post-War face and thinks, _Well, my future was decided when I first set eyes on him, I suppose._

She wonders when her face will fill out again, when she will start looking like the nearly 19-year-old woman that she is and not the starving runaway she was forced to be. She pledges to eat well while she’s in New Delhi. She thinks about finally getting her NEWTs and making a future for herself that is one she has chosen.

Her first day in, and she’s in a market, examining the wares and enjoying her anonymity. It has been 7 long years since she’s really felt like her time was her own, since no eyes were on her. That is until she registers that the vendor of a particular stall has been staring at her a little too long, and she realises she’s been found out.

Hermione has always been one to address problems head-on, so she approaches the woman and dips her head in greeting, smiling politely, “Hello.”

Dark brown eyes meet her hazel ones, laughing in an honest and appreciative way that doesn’t reach her lips, “You’re very far from home, Miss Granger.”

She’s taller, her skin dark and smooth. Her age is hard to gauge but if Hermione had to guess she would have said about thirty. Her sleek black hair is pulled to one side, thickly plaited so it falls gracefully over a shoulder. Her eyes are playful and not at all mocking, just curious. Hermione relaxes and unclenches her jaw.

“I wanted to see the world outside of what it has been for me,” she says, wringing her hands in a nervous habit, and her knuckles explode in a chorus of clicks, “and I hope you’ll understand I wanted to see myself outside of what I’ve had to be, too.”

The woman extends a hand to her, both its palm and back traced with immaculate mehndi. “Aahna Varma,” she says, as she grasps Hermione’s hand in hers, cool and dry despite the immense heat of their surroundings. Hermione can feel Aahna’s magic thrumming just below her skin, warm and bright. “Have you lodgings for your stay here?”

Hermione’s mostly been flying solo for her trips so far, living in hotels, hostels and apartments when she can rent them from those who have magic. For the first time, standing in that market in New Delhi, she doesn’t feel like hiding herself away from people. She shakes her head. Aahna smiles.

“Well then, Miss Granger, you’ll stay with my family and I. You can help us prepare for Diwali.”

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_Thank you for your poem. I’ll confess it did things to me that I can’t put into words - I’m not like you, and words don’t come easily. But I miss you in so many ways, and memories of our time together are always at the front of my mind. I miss holding you, and the smell of your hair. I carry the poem with me everywhere, close to my heart._

_I’m in New Delhi. I had gotten into a tidy routine with my trips, mostly keeping myself to myself, but this time I met someone rather interesting. Her name is Aahna Varma and she runs a stall in one of the markets here, selling her family’s produce. She recognised me the first day I arrived here and offered me lodgings with her and her family. I hadn’t realised how much I missed the company of other witches and wizards until I entered her house._

_She lives with her husband Amit and their young daughter, Pooja - but their home is always full of other magical folk coming and going. And listen to this, Luna - both she and Amit are gay. It is really difficult out here for them to live openly - being gay is illegal - so they married each other and had a child together so that they could be left alone. I can’t believe it, but it seems I’ve stumbled into the centre of the gay scene of New Delhi!_

_I never really had the privilege to reflect on my sexuality. My life has never really been mine, not since I was 11 and became friends with Harry and Ron. Since then it has always just been about when You-Know-Who would pop back up to hunt us again, or whether I would get to pass my exams before he kills me, and things like that. Meeting all of these people here, who are so kind and welcoming in the face of such awful prejudice and actual danger, it really makes me think about how things are back in England. The same awful prejudices, the same amount of having to live in silence. It makes me so grateful for our little circle of friends, Dumbledore’s Army. Of course now, the fact he was gay too just makes the association even apter!_

_When I was first falling for you, Ron asked me what he and I were doing and where we were going. And the honest truth is that we were a terrible match, but war makes you do funny things. Now, without my life being threatened every day, I feel comfortable and confident enough in my skin to admit that I’m a lesbian._

_I’ve experimented enough in my past to know that what I feel for you is incomparable to anything I’ve experienced before. It’s like anyone beforehand was in black and white, whereas with you everything is technicolour. Aahna told me that ultimately sexuality is about who being with makes you feel most empowered in yourself, and being with another woman - with you! My Luna - makes me feel ten feet tall. My magic has never felt more obedient and present than it has since we finally saw each other._

_It feels like such a big step to say that ‘out loud’ to someone. I wanted to tell you properly because seeing you be so bright and proud of yourself, of all your idiosyncrasies, and being so unapologetic about it all, gave me so much courage when I was working it out. Your unapologetic bisexuality empowered me to realise I’m gay. And I’m so proud to be with you._

_I’m sending some photos - magical this time - with this letter so you can see what it is like here. I’ve told them all about you, of course - they expect you to drop by some day when you visit here - and even for us to come back together some time. Currently, the house is getting ready for Diwali, which is basically a big Hindu festival of light that lasts for 5 days! I remember when I was younger that there would always be fireworks celebrations for it, but I always assumed it was just a Muggle thing. It’s so fascinating seeing how these witches and wizards marry Hindu traditions with magic. I’m learning so much._

_I don’t want to say anything too emotional or soppy because I would rather say those things to you in person, but Luna, my heart is with you in Berlin. I hope you’re resting and eating and keeping warm. I wish I could kiss you._

_Hermione_

* * *

When Hermione’s owl finds her, Luna is luxuriating in her hostel bed with a mug of herbal tea and a book. She smiles when it taps at the window with its beak, and lurches out of bed quickly to let it in.

The screech owl studies her with its clever eyes, clicking its beak while she removes its burden. Luna smiles, tilting her head to look back at it, “Long journey? You can rest here if you like - this is a magical hostel, no one will think anything of it.”

The owl allows her to stroke its feathers gently, closing its wide eyes and sitting contentedly under her ministrations. She slips the payment into its pouch, saying, “There. The payment is received, so you can feel free to stay here as long as you need to before you head off. I’ll leave the window open for you - you can even look at whatever it is that Hermione has had you carry all this way.” The owl clicks in the affirmative, puffing out its feathers as it settles in for a quick nap by her side.

It is here that the weight and size of the parcel she’s received dawns on her. The heavier weight parchment envelope is clearly hiding more than it seems. Sitting back down on her bed, she opens the envelope and tips out its contents: a letter, a number of photographs, and a last wrapped package that delicious smells are wafting from.

She examines this last one and the small tag attached to it:

 _Luna - Please enjoy these sweets - or_ mithai _\- I picked out for you on the 2nd day of Diwali. It is known as Chhoti Diwali and traditionally it’s a day where ancestors and departed loved ones are venerated. I thought a lot about us and our friends and the ones we have lost, and I’m wishing for your peace and mine as we work out who we are without war hanging over our heads. On the 4th day, Annakut, they celebrate the bond between husband and wife, but Aahna said that while she loves Amit like a brother, she thinks it’s more appropriate to celebrate romantic bonds of all kinds. So with that in mind, please enjoy this mountain of sweets. Sweets for my sweetheart - how saccharine. - Hermione x_

Luna smiles fondly as she opens the sweets, taking in the various shapes and colours, some of them wrapped in edible foil, but all giving off a delightfully creamy, sugary fragrance. She pops one of them - a foiled diamond - into her mouth and lets it start to melt on her tongue before she chews, unfolding Hermione’s letter and starting to read.

She’s surprised when she feels tears pricking at her eyes as she reads of the bookworm’s adventures in New Delhi, of the wonderful family she’s stumbled onto. Reading her girlfriend - because that’s what they’re dancing around isn’t it really, the _specificity_ \- putting a name to her desire and her love, her sense of empowerment, is too moving for words, sweeter than the _mithai_.

She puts a trembling hand to her smiling mouth and lets her tears fall. Luna had always known her most fundamental truth about herself, that she was a woman without limits in all respects, that she would believe everything was possible until proven otherwise - her mother, her brilliant, dangerous mother had taught her that, in the short time Luna had her. Her bisexuality, her all-encompassing sense of possibility when it came to romance, seemed a natural extension of that, and so while her school years (fraught with so much pre-war, then the war itself) had never led to an expression of that side of herself, it sits within her like an old friend, comfortable.

To read of Hermione’s journey, her self-examination, her joy in discovering a community out there and sorrow at its pitfalls and similarities with their little DA bubble - Luna can feel the soft thrum of her magic within her as her pride for Hermione flutters in her chest, feels it seeping out of her skin and dancing in the air. When she closes her eyes just so and pushes just a little with it, she can find Hermione’s magic across the earth and caress it, just once to let her know she knows and she loves her.

 _The world is wide and full of possibilities_ , she thinks, and starts to flick through the photos Hermione has sent. Here she is laughing with a tall, elegant woman with her ebony hair in a thick plait - Aahla? - as a little brown girl runs into the frame on one side of the photo and out of the other, her chubby hands reaching out to a patient but quick cat who trots out before her.

She can see Hermione’s curls are a little frizzier from the humidity of India, but she looks happy and slightly tanned and more freckled than ever. That familiar twinge deep inside returns when she looks at her girlfriend’s slightly moist, sweaty skin, her exposed arms browned a little just like her face, her shoulders looking broader and more proud than she can remember them being in recent years. _She looks healthy_ , Luna smiles, turning to the next picture and absentmindedly scratching her neck in a bid to quell her skin’s prickling.

This time, Hermione and a man, likely Amit, are sweeping the floors of the house, smiling and laughing as they each try to sweep more efficiently than the other. The man’s deep brown skin looks glossy and seems to shimmer as his arms move, and Luna thinks that maybe the hosts have done something to Hermione’s hair; it seems sleeker somehow, more moisturised and well-cared for, less humid-frizzy than the previous photo. On the back of the photo she notes Hermione’s careful print: _Amir and I cleaning the house on day 1 of Diwali. He screamed when he saw how frizzy my hair was and doused it in some kind of oil. I’ll admit it looks better!_

Luna laughs, turning back to look at this Amit more closely. He has an intelligent, funny face - sleek arched eyebrows and high cheekbones, and he pulls an exaggerated pout when Hermione hip-checks him slightly out of frame in her efforts to best him at sweeping. Again Luna hungrily takes in her girlfriend’s body, filling back out after too-long of being birdlike and gaunt. That Gryffindor charisma and strength is returning, and it fills her heart to see Hermione’s clothes no longer hang off her. The doorway the two are in is painted with decorative designs in bright colours, and if she squints she can see the baby girl waddling past in the background, her hands stained a vivid blue, as her mother walks just behind her smiling.

The third and final photo is a group photo, where Hermione is off to one side, her arm outstretched - presumably holding the wizarding camera steady so everyone can fit into the shot. Luna takes in this motley crew of people - she can see gay men and women in couples, Aahla and Amit arm in arm with baby Pooja between them clapping her hands, whilst Aahla’s other arm drapes around another laughing woman with pretty eyes, who leans in and kisses her cheek.

There are a few androgynous people whose personal identities Luna can only guess at, but who look resplendent in their choices of traditional garb; men in saris and women in tunics and trousers, and Amit himself is sporting a rather fetching pair of gold heeled sandals, kicking his feet up while Hermione offers a peace sign, or blows Luna a kiss.

She turns the photo over to read Hermione’s description:

_Bhai Duj, or Brothers’ Day, the last day of Diwali, it reads. Aahla and Amir’s friends call themselves the Rainbow Connection, and they believe this last day of the festival - traditionally reserved for the sister-brother relationship - should be for celebrating all manner of family, chosen or otherwise. I’ve met so many interesting people - gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender - and acquired so many new chosen siblings. I’m starting to truly be happy again._

It makes Luna laugh and wipe her tears with her free hand, then pop another sweet into her mouth, reminiscing about 6th year where she lived in the Room of Requirement then was stolen away to Malfoy Manor.

Before her stay on the Malfoy estate, she had formed her own little community in the darkness, had lived communally with the comrades and found joy in small things. She remembers listening to Potterwatch with Ginny and Neville and wondering how the Golden Trio were getting on out there in the big, wide world. Hogwarts itself looked very little like the home it had been for her five previous years there, but the DA had carved out their own space again, forging a way of staying happy in their bubble, and fighting back against the Dark in any way they could. She had a community.

Hermione had Ron and Harry, and that was it. Luna can’t imagine having to rely on just two people to lift her up, especially in such dire circumstances. The bonds the Trio shared were undeniable, but she ached to think of all that Hermione must have tamped down inside herself, under too much pressure to address or even think about before their mission was complete.

She makes a vow to visit the Schwules Museum* the next day in Kreuzberg, and marvels at the way community can always be found, and history can always be made, simply by existing exactly as you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Schwules Museum* is the Gay Museum in Berlin, which has been open since 1985. Its original location was in the Kreuzberg neighbourhood, until 2013 where they had enough money to move to a bigger building in the Tiergarten area. For Harry Potter canon timing, Luna is going to visit the Kreuzberg one. The Schwules Museum* officially has an asterisk in its name, to denote its expanded focus on all manner of LGBT histories and people.
> 
> I've focused quite a bit on Diwali this chapter - I'm a white British gal, if I've made any mistakes and you are Hindu and want to correct me, please send me a message. I've done a lot of research but I'm not complacent that it's all perfect and hunky-dory.


End file.
